onsive to the exhilaration of events.

"Marthe!" she called, when she had let herself into the flat. Contrary
to orders, the little hall was in darkness. There was no answer. She
lit the hall and passed into the kitchen, lighting it also. There, in
the terrible and incurable squalor of Marthe's own kitchen, Marthe's
apron was thrown untidily across the back of the solitary windsor
chair. She knew then that Marthe had gone out, and in truth, although
very annoyed, she was not altogether surprised.

Marthe had a mysterious love affair. It was astonishing, in view of
the intensely aphrodisiacal atmosphere in which she lived, that Marthe
did not continually have love affairs. But the day of love had seemed
for Marthe to be over, and Christine found great difficulty in getting
her ever to leave the flat, save on necessary household errands. On
the other hand it was astonishing that any man should be attracted
by the fat slattern. The moth now fluttering round her was an Italian
waiter, as to whom Christine had learnt that he was being unjustly
hunted by the Italian military authorities. Hence the mystery
necessarily attaching to the love affair. Being French, Christine
despised him. He called Marthe by her right name of "Marta," and
Christine had more than once heard the pair gabbling in the kitchen
in Italian. Just as though she had been a conventional _bourgeoise_
Christine now accused Marthe of ingratitude because the woman was
subordinating Christine's convenience to the supreme exigencies of
fate. A man's freedom might be in the balance, Marthe's future might
be in the balance; but supposing that Christine had come home with a
gallant--and no _femme de chambre_ to do service!

She walked about the flat, shut the windows, drew the blinds, removed
her hat, removed her gloves, stretched them, put her things away; she
gazed at the two principal rooms, at the soiled numbers of _La Vie
Parisienne_ and the cracked bric-a-brac in the drawing-room, at the
rent in the lace bedcover, and the foul mess of toilet apparatus in
the bedroom. The forlorn emptiness of the place appalled her. She had
been quite fairly successful in her London career. Hundreds of men had
caressed her and paid her with compliments and sweets and money. She
had been really admired. The flat had had gay hours. Unmistakable
aristocrats had yielded to her. And she had escaped the five scourges
of her profession....

It was all over. The chapter was closed.